Of Poker and Porno
by cherryXbomb
Summary: Maria's thoughts in the hotel room in 285 South. [MICHAELxMARIA]


People always say you have to play with the hand you've been dealt: in life, poker, anything. Lately I have been seriously wishing that this were poker, life. I mean seriously, how cool would it be to be able to just take a few cards that you hate and trade them in for cards that would make your life a hundred times better. I know there are a lot of ways that could screw up your life too, but I guess that's kind of like the what-if aspect of life.

I mean I wonder what would happen if I could just trade in a few of these secrets I have for something, I don't know, but something normal. Normal as in not sharing a cheap porno version of Aladdin hotel room with a super hot alien. Not that Michael Guerin is super hot or anything, but still. I mean how cool would it be if I could trade in that secret for another secret, like being some kind of weird super secret agent. I could carry a gun. Which probably wouldn't be the brightest idea for me but still… or maybe just trade in that secret for something totally high school. Like a secret crush on someone normal, as normal as Kyle Valenti, just without the psychopathic stalker tendencies.

Liz would laugh at that, me saying Kyle has psychopathic stalker tendencies, because well he doesn't. I know. But he follows Liz around like a lost poodle, which he kind of is. Liz described him as loyal and trustworthy or something lame like that the day everything started. The day Max Evans saved her at the Crashdown. Then she picked up another poodle, or maybe she became the poodle. But Max Evans, not normal. Kind of out of this world, like alien out of this world not super amazing out of this world.

Maybe I mean normal like Alex. Alex is normal. He's beyond normal. He doesn't even know that I was abducted by an alien. He doesn't even know that there really are aliens, which is something I don't get. The alien thing. I mean the crash took place in 1947 and its 1999. The guy on the floor, Michael, he does not look 42 years old. He says he's sixteen but how does he know? How old is he?

Great now I'm questioning everything the way Sheriff Valenti does. Valenti as in Kyle, as in his dad. Which makes things even weirder on Team Alien over here. Liz dated the Sheriff's son while flirting with the aliens that he's trying to figure out. It's a little weird to know that Sheriff Valenti… why am I talking about that creepy sheriff dude? He gives me nightmares and I'll have enough of those with Michael sleeping on the floor beside this creepy as hell heart shaped bed.

Anyway, what else would I trade in if that were like possible? I have no clue. Just this secret about Max and Michael and annoyingly snooty Isabel. Even though Isabel did come through for me a few weeks back when Liz's grandma was sick and dying and everything I don't care. I would trade in this secret for anything.

Even though, looking at Michael right now, he doesn't look like some psycho deranged car thief alien guy from the wrong side of the tracks. He looks kind of peaceful, and human. Well he always looks human. I think people would've figured it out by now if he looked like the aliens from the museum. Three feet tall, green, with those creepy gel eyes. No instead Michael has to have these beautiful brown eyes and that weird hair that stands up and defies all laws of gravity that makes him look… OH MY GOD! I was not just thinking that about Michael Guerin.

I need a bracing reality check. I did not trade in my secret about my dad and thinking he'd come save me from Roswell, New Mexico in a limo for a secret, totally high school crush on the alien from the wrong side of the tracks! I really wish I could talk to Liz right now. Just talk to her so she could tell me that I'm clinically insane for even thinking that I like Michael. Because I don't like Michael. I cannot like Michael Guerin. He's a creepy alien.

And besides that, he skips school.

But he likes pistachio ice cream and jokes around and just wants to escape Roswell the way that I do. Except he thinks escaping means spaceship but whatever floats his boat right?

How did this happen to me? I mean my cell phone is shattered on 285 South somewhere and alien boy set my car on fire (which if it doesn't get fixed, I can kiss any happy relationships with my mother good-bye), and I'm sharing a room with Max Guerin.

But I don't like him.

I cannot like him.

And I don't like him.

And I wouldn't like him if he were the last alien left on the earth. There's more of a chance of me actually getting along with Isabel Evans than me ever kissing or dating or anything with Michael Guerin.

Why did he shatter my phone? I could really use some one on one talk with Liz, just to hear I'm crazy from someone who isn't me. Or maybe I shouldn't tell her, because we know how she feels about aliens and I guess the more touchy feely alien love brought into the world the better in her eyes.

I just want to go home, get out of this cheap hotel and go find Michael's whatever in Marathon, Texas and go home. Home to a place where I'm not laying in bed thinking about Michael Guerin and his deep eyes and his gravity defying hair.

Even though home does have the creepy sheriff. At least it has other things to distract me from not liking Michael.


End file.
